


A King's Ransom in Dimes

by Steerintoit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A little Dean/Cas tease, Angels are Dicks (Supernatural), Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), HARD gen, Liberal use of Sammy, Lots of Cursing, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Smut, POV Dean Winchester, Pining, Quote: Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically irrationally erotically codependent on each other, and cursing, but don't worry, gencest, nothing happens, oh so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19423759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steerintoit/pseuds/Steerintoit
Summary: A particularly powerful whammy compels Sam and Dean to separate as they, Cas, and Rowena scramble to find a solution. As the brothers suffer separately under the effects of the curse, Dean contemplates what makes life worthwhile, and what's worth dying for.





	A King's Ransom in Dimes

**Author's Note:**

> I initially wrote this thinking I'd break it up into chapters - but since I'm actually posting from my tablet and formatting would be a huge PITA, it's gonna be a long one-shot instead. Hope it's good!

**Week One**

The problem was, he and Sam had never been apart, in their entire lives, for more than a day or two unless it was some Really Bad Shit. At best, it was Sam leaving the family and never speaking to him again. At worst, one of them was dead. At any rate, it usually wasn’t good.

Dean took another pull on his bottle of Jack, knowing it would be useless. He still felt absolutely maudlin, being this tore up after only a week away from him.

Memories, unbidden, flew back into his mind. A fight. An angel - one of the last on Earth. Mordecai. Him, Sam, Cas. Dean wielding the angel-killing blade. Sinking the blade into that bastard’s chest. But before the angel died, an utterance, in Enochian. Dean and Sam both went flying as the room flashed brilliantly, and the angel died.

Instinctively, Dean moved towards Sam, only for Cas to shout out and restrain him forcefully. You can’t Dean. You can’t.

The angel had uttered a spell, it turned out. Dean didn’t know angels even had spells, and judging by Sam’s reaction, Sam hadn’t known either. It was rare, Cas explained. Extremely, extremely rare. There were only a few, and Cas didn’t know much about them. But they were powerful - with angelic force behind them, far more powerful than anything a witch could dream up. And this motherfucker? Had hit them with a whammy that meant if he and Sam touched each other, they’d die. 

Cas looked uncomfortable, like he had more to say but wasn’t sure how to say it. Mordecai knew what he was doing when he cursed you, he began. He knew you and Sam are… bonded. Soulmates. The curse has a negative pole, where you cannot touch. And there’s a “positive” pole, that your longing to do so will… increase. 

Trying to avoid the discomfort of that idea, both Dean and Sam were full of questions. Die how? What would happen? Immediately or over time? Does it wear off eventually? How do you reverse an angel-curse anyway?

But Cas didn’t know much else. He knew little about angel curses, and soul-bonds are an ancient force few understood. He just knew Dean and Sam couldn’t touch each other until this was figured out.

Okay, no big deal, Dean thought. They just don’t touch.

By the time the three of them got home, Cas had had to stop them about five times in the car. Dean had no idea how often he and Sam just… tapped at each other while Dean drove. Smacking Sam’s hand away from the radio. Slapping Sam’s knee after a joke. Tapping each other’s arms to get each other’s attention. Brushing hands handing each other food or drink. And that was without Dean itching to check Sam over. He knew Sam was injured, with a nasty looking gash on his forehead from when they were sent flying. Cas took patch-up duty for both of them, and Dean felt a flash of irritation that he couldn’t quite place.

A phone call to Rowena, who had herself maybe heard of angel curses once, about three centuries ago. She didn’t know anything either, but she’d poke around and see what she could find. Dean wanted to scream, and he didn’t know why.

Over the next day or two, it became clear the situation was untenable. Even if he and Sam miraculously remembered to never touch each other, there were still “accidents” that tended to happen throughout the day. Knees knocking at the table, brushing past each other in the hallway, reaching for the goddamn salt shaker at the same time. 

Cas, running interference, gently suggesting that they probably had to get some distance between them if they wanted to stay alive. Living together, being in the same room together, was too dangerous.

It was Sam that left. That hadn’t been Dean’s first choice. He offered to go. Sam mumbled something about how he’d already spent plenty of time rattling around the Bunker on his own over the years. “And it’s only home if you’re in it.” Sam looked surprised at himself as the words came out. Not that it wasn’t true - but it wasn’t generally the kind of thing either of them would say.

Dean wanted to hug his brother. But he couldn’t.

***

He and Sam weren’t really chatty, in the sense of just calling each other up and talking. Obviously they talked plenty in person, but they also spent plenty of time not talking. Just chilling out. Researching. Watching movies. Listening to music. Just being. But they were dudes. They weren’t really the “phone call” type.

Deep down, this was one of the reasons Dean always liked having Sam within yelling distance. Why he hated the idea of Sam not living the hunting life with him. Because how on earth would they relate to each other if they weren’t up in each other’s space all the time? Were they seriously ever gonna be the kind of brothers who just chatted on the phone sometimes, or met up for a drink every now and then? 

He and Sam had never really figured out how to have a middle setting. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“How you feeling?”

“Good. I guess. You? How’s the motel?”

“It’s alright, I guess. Good AC.”  
“Did you find anything?”

“Did you find anything?”  
“Not yet.”

“Not yet.”  
“Rowena says she hasn’t either.”

“Cas has nothing.”  
“Well don’t burn yourself out. You’re sleeping, right?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“You been drinking?”

“Yeah, a little.”

It wasn’t exactly Shakespeare.

Dean felt a tight, anxious knot in his stomach all the time. It made it hard to concentrate.

There was a whole lot he didn’t want to think about. 

He left the bottle on the table - Sam wasn’t around to be annoyed, and Dean suddenly cared less about the cleanliness of the place - and went to bed.

***

**Week 2**

Filling the time was getting to be an issue.

Dean wasn’t like Sam. He could never just research endlessly. He hadn’t left the bunker since this whole thing had started, save for a quick supply run, and he was getting twitchy.

But what to do?

He discovered a quick hunt one state over - just a simple salt-and-burn - but somehow had nearly gotten himself killed. He was distracted, he was off his game. Sam lost his ever-fucking shit when he found out. He couldn’t hear of Dean hunting alone. He asked Dean how he would have felt if Sam had gone out on his own. Dean had to grant the point. The idea of Sammy out fighting monsters alone, of something happening to Sammy and Dean wasn’t there, maybe wouldn’t know… he actually gagged slightly, nearly threw up at the thought. 

So hunting was out.

So Dean decided to try some shore leave.

His skin had been a bit itchy lately anyway - he needed some action. Get his touch-needs met the old-fashioned way.

Lebanon was an absolute shit place for “action”. He already knew that. 

The lay he found didn’t really help. Probably the worst sex of his life, and he had to admit it wasn’t because of her. He just couldn’t get into it. And… he felt weirdly guilty, like he was doing something wrong by hooking up.

There was always drinking. 

Even Dean didn’t like drinking all day. But when he did take a couple of slugs of whiskey, it seemed to numb things out a bit. He felt less antsy, less anxious. He could almost feel normal.

Cas was still around, of course, though trying to move back and forth between him and Sam. He knew they both needed some company, some occupation. He said Sam was doing alright, but looked tired. Dean wasn’t surprised. Dean tried to keep the drinking down when Cas was around, but he saw Cas’ concerned look at his tumbler one night. Dean felt strangely annoyed at the whole thing. 

Part of him knew it wasn’t fair, but there were moments when he straight-up hated Cas. Hated his futility, his uselessness, his ignorance, that he didn’t know how to fix this. He knew just enough about this damn angel curse to fuck with Dean’s head about it.

He also knew too goddamn much. In other ways. He was a bit too kind, a bit too sympathetic. He seemed to be going out of his way to not touch Dean either, as if he knew that it would just be wrong, and not at all what Dean wanted. He asked after Dean’s eating, his sleeping, his physical state. Dean lied, badly. He tried to be reassuring. They’d find something, he was sure of it. Every curse had a way of reversing it. 

Dean wanted to punch him. They had no way of knowing that. They had no way of knowing if it would ever be fixed.

“Dean, we’ll find something. I promise.”

“Sure Sammy. I know we will.”

“How you holding up?”

“Not so good. I got used to not living in motels  
all the time. Y’know?”

“Why don’t you come home awhile,  
Sammy? I can switch out, crash somewhere   
else awhile.”  
“Maybe you can spot something I haven’t  
in all these goddamn books.”

“I don’t think that’ll help me Dean.”  
“Might actually make it worse.”

“Worse? How could it be worse?”

“Home, where everything looks like you   
and smells like you and is you? I think   
it’d be worse.”  
“I can’t believe I just wrote that.”

“You’re such a fucking girl Sammy.”

“Asshole, you’ve called me Sammy like  
three times in the last three sentences.”

“...”

“...”

“Goodnight Sammy.”

“Goodnight Dean.”

Dean had abandoned even leaving the whiskey on the table. It was beside his bed. He wasn’t sure he could sleep otherwise.

***

**One Month**

Okay, the dreams were weird.

Dreams of Sam. But cheesy, soft-filter. Intimate. Like, nothing explicit or graphic, but just… pleasant. But so weird. Pleasant, having his brother beside him, smiling, laughing, his hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean would wake up, happy for a split-second. Then frustrated. It wasn’t real. And didn’t help.

His skin practically buzzed. He wanted. He wanted Sam. He actually needed Sam, and not in his usual codependent way. He needed his hands on Sam, the real article, not some dream or vision or whatever the fuck was going on at night. Not some busty blonde skank. Sam.

Cas explained at one point that this was the curse’s interaction with the “soul-bond” he and Sam shared. That the curse necessitated his and Sam’s souls either separate, or destroy one another. That both their souls were in distress, trying to reunite, but doing so could be deadly.

On the other hand, it’s not like Dean had never died before.

Cas wasn’t around as much lately. He was out searching for answers. Dean was alone most of the time. Rowena had come up with bupkis too, though Dean questioned whether she was really looking. 

Cas didn’t like leaving him or Sam alone, and wanted to bring in reinforcements. Jody, Donna. Dean refused. He didn’t want to have to explain all this to them. He didn’t want other people seeing him like this, sweating it out like a crackhead because he wasn’t allowed to be with his brother. Besides, they had jobs, they had lives, and who knew how much longer this could go on for?

On the other hand, it meant no one was around to interfere with his drinking.

On the other hand, drinking was becoming less and less helpful.

Sam was right. Being around things-that-smelled-like-Sam wasn’t helpful. It just made Dean hurt. It wasn’t it. It wasn’t right. He curled up in Sam’s bed, wearing one of Sam’s shirts. The smell was soothing for a second, before the ache came back.

He found himself cradling his phone in his hand a lot, more tied to it than usual. His one link to his brother. His messages, his words. The most connected he could feel. 

“Sammy, tell me where you are.”

“What? Dean, you know. I’m staying in a hotel in-”

“No, Sam. Tell me where you ARE. I’m fucking sick of this. I’m coming out there. I have to see-”

“Dean, no! We can’t. I can’t. We just-”

Dean’s voice cracked. “Sam, I can’t. I can’t do this. I have to, I can’t not see you.”

Sam’s voice was plaintive and wavering. “Dean, please. I can’t, I can’t be stronger. I’m not home. I’m not with you. I’m not right. If you ask me one more time, I will fucking tell you. And it’ll destroy us both.”

“It might destroy us both anyway.”

“I know.”

Dean noticed his clothes were fitting looser. He hadn’t given too much thought to eating lately, and he felt like ass all the time. Sleeping was sweet torture, with soft dreams of Sammy. Regarding himself in the mirror, he looked pinched and pale. There were circles under his eyes. He looked sallow - had he even been outside all week?

The next time Cas checked in, he asked what would happen to them if they didn’t find a way to lift the curse. Was he - were they going to die?

Cas looked worried. “I just don’t know Dean. I barely know about this curse as it is, and I only know of a few other times it’s been used throughout human history. For most people, it’s more like something chronic. It’s a pining curse. You want the other person and can’t have them. It’s meant to be torture, but not fatal.”

“But you and Sam… I don’t know how it works for soulmates. I know it makes it more severe. I don’t know if it makes it fatal. I honestly don’t know.

Dean wished he at least knew how long it would take to kill him and Sam. If it was a slow-burn kinda thing, he was at the point of burning some of that time off just for some goddamn relief. Hell, dying itself didn’t feel like that big a deal, really. 

Dying in Sammy’s arms was the only way he’d ever wanted to go, anyway.

“Cas, how’s Sam holding up? For real.”

“... not much better than you. I don’t want to tell you, Dean. The last thing you need right now is to worry about Sam.”

“Well gee Cas, we’re about 36 years too late on that one. I’ll just stop then!”

Dean hadn’t meant to snap. Cas had been trying to help, for weeks now. And Dean had been suffering, for weeks now.

“Dude, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s okay Dean. I know how hard this is for you.”

Dean had gotten… funny, around Cas lately. He was craving something, but he wasn’t sure what. He edged his way closer to him.

“Cas, really,” he started, his voice huskier than usual, “I really do appreciate everything you’ve been doing for Sammy and me.”

Dean reached out a hand towards Cas as Cas stepped away. He knew better.

“Dean, years ago you tried to use me to replace your brother, when you two were apart. Do you remember? And it didn’t work. Right now you’re looking for any comfort you can have. But I’m sorry, it just won’t work.”

With a rustle of feathers, Cas was gone. Dean was alone again.

***

**Week 6**

When Dean’s weight loss got bad enough that even Cas noticed, Cas finally prevailed on getting in more help. Donna had been hanging around the bunker all week. Jody with Sam. Dean was trying really, very hard, not to snap at her constantly.

Donna around meant someone noticing. Noticing what he was (not) eating, noticing how much he was drinking, noticing how little he was going out, noticing the lack of anything resembling a routine.

The problem with a place like the bunker is, with no windows, it’s easy to lose track of day and night.

Noticing Dean slept with his cell in his hand. Noticing that somewhere in recent weeks, he and Sam had started falling asleep that way - waking up to Sam’s breathing helped, just a little.

There was really nothing about this curse that prevented Dean from going out, from doing things, except for Dean’s own sense of feeling like it was a weeks-long, nasty flu. Dean’s own sense of just not wanting to do anything. Not being able to settle, not being able to enjoy. 

Donna tried. Tried to get Dean eating more regularly, tried to get him to at least go outside. Tried to keep a drinking down to a minimum. Tried to look calm and neutral. She’d seen junkies before, after all. The problem was, Dean wasn’t actually sweating this out. He was getting worse, not better, and Sam probably was too - fucking Sam, who would never tell Dean when he wasn’t fine, and no one else would tell Dean either, as if that was going to make him any fucking calmer.

She didn’t try to do anything about the phone that may have fused with his hand. Cas had briefed her enough - she knew Dean would have fucking fought her if she’d tried to take it away. He was pretty certain at least talking to Sam, texting Sam, was just about the only thing keeping him alive right now.

Given how much they were talking, Dean was pretty sure Sam had given up on any attempts to research too. Dean had lost focus long ago.

Jody came over. All she’d tell Dean was that Sam was “holding up”, and he just knew she was fucking lying. She pulled Donna and Cas into the kitchen. Dean wasn’t invited, to this party in his own fucking house. He could overhear some of it, though.

“We can’t. It could be fatal. It’ll kill them both.”

“Cas… I’m starting to wonder if they’ll die anyway. We have to, have to consider the worst-case scenarios here.”

“If this is it, if this is the end. They should be together. Even if it wasn’t this. If it was something else. They would be together.”

“Wouldn’t they both be in heaven anyway? Maybe keeping them alive isn’t really for anyone’s good. I don’t know.”

“That’s where Rowena is at too. There’s almost no lore on angel curses. And hardly anything on soulmates and how all that works. She’s wondering if maybe… if we let them get together, it might kill them, or it might actually save them? It might take them right up to the edge of death, and then...lift?

“We don’t know. We don’t know the ramifications. We don’t know if it could make things better, or much worse.”

“I don’t know that there is a ‘much worse’ here. This can’t go on. Sam hasn’t been home in weeks, and he’s doing badly. You know him, he doesn’t say much, he just worries about Dean. But you can tell. The only reason he hasn’t stormed back himself by now is I’ve gotten him locked the fuck in. He knows, he isn’t fighting it, but…”

Dean’s heart was in his ears. He could barely breathe. Were they going to let this happen? Were they going to bring Sammy home? Or bring him to Sam?

He didn’t even fucking care who went where. If this meet had to happen on Mars, that was fine. If it actually did kill them both, he didn’t even care. They’d be in Heaven together. Just let it end.

***

The only reason Donna was able to coax Dean into the shower, to choke down a granola bar and some water, was because he knew what was coming. He knew who was coming. Dean couldn’t remember when he’d last seen the inside of the freaking shower. He just hadn’t cared. But after God knows how long of sweating and drinking and crying and not changing his clothes - he had to admit he’d needed it.

Showered, with fresh clothes, Dean felt like he was prepping for a date. And in a weird way, he was.

He almost missed Donna’s pinched, worried look. The reality that he might be dead in a couple of hours felt utterly secondary to the excitement he felt.

He just couldn’t bring himself to care that he might die. He was going to be with Sam.

He was perched on his bed like a puppy. Waiting. His skin still hurt, he still sweat, he felt anxious and nauseated. He barely noticed. He waited. Cas sat with him, silent.

The door. Voices. Sam. Sam’s voice. Dean’s body just started fucking moving. Cas stopped him. Dean took a swing, may have actually killed Cas if he could. Cas stopped him. 

“We don’t know what’s going to happen. You two should be alone.”

Dean glared at him. But it bought enough time. 

Sam was standing in the doorway.

Dean barely registered that Sam looked like a goddamned POW. How much weight he’d lost, the circles under his eyes, the fact that he was swaying on his fucking feet.

All Dean saw was Sam’s faint, relieved smile. And then Dean was there.

Dean’s body moved almost without fucking volition. He didn’t remember telling himself to fly at Sam. He just did. And suddenly they were clinging and panting and crying, Dean’s face in Sam’s shoulder, smelling him, breathing him in, arms around his middle, almost weak in the legs from relief-

\- Suddenly giving way to actual weakness. Dean had forgotten. 

Sinking to their knees in unison, falling to the ground, it got harder and harder to breathe. The room grew black. 

Instinctively, Dean reached for Sam. Sam reached back. If this was it, this was the way it was supposed to be. 

There was no other way Dean wanted to go.

***

Brightness. Voices.

Faint at first, but clearer.

Cold. Wet.

As Dean came to, realizing a cold cloth was pressed to his head. 

Blinking. Confused.

Cas.

As Dean’s eyes focused, he saw a look of unmistakable relief on Cas’s face. And a bit of guilt.

“So, after all that, it was a false fucking alarm?”

Cas chuckled slightly. “Well, we really didn’t know which way it was going to go. You two have been unconscious for 24 hours. You were cold to the touch, it didn’t even look like you were breathing. Then just an hour or two ago, Jody picked up a pulse on both of you.”

“Sam? Where’s Sam?”

Cas reached over and physically tilted Dean’s head. Sam was right beside him, still blinking his way into sentience. Dean just realized they’d both been laid out on the goddamn floor.

Cas, Jody, Donna, thought they were dead. But wanted to keep them near each other.

Dean smiled softly, another rush of relief. He was here. His brother was here.

He and Sam recovered together. Slowly eating again, sleeping again. Never apart. Neither of them wanted to be apart. Neither of them fucking cared how weird it was to sleep in the same bed, with everyone around. And no one said anything about it. Dean still wanted a hand on Sam, basically all the time.

But, you know. That had kinda always been true. Basically the only thing they did separately was use the bathroom and shower.

No one knew for sure what had happened. Rowena theorized that the curse was only supposed to mimic death. The two afflicted people would be presumed dead, buried, then awaken later. 

A fucking Romeo and Juliet curse. That was the twist. They’d be buried alive. So they’d be tortured, eventually seem to die, then wake up, then eventually suffocate in their graves.

Angels were real fucking dicks. 

As far as anyone could tell, the curse had lifted. But Dean still found himself craving Sam. He still felt best when Sam was close to him, touching him. One morning, waking up before Sam, he rolled over, traced Sam’s features with his finger. He wanted to know, he wanted to remember. He had barely stopped smiling since coming back to life.

Jody and Donna eventually went back to their jobs, their lives. Cas remained, and seemed oddly unperturbed by all this. Though he did apologize, again and again, for keeping them apart - he honestly thought that was the right thing to do.

As usual, Sam forgave faster. As usual, Dean couldn’t stay upset forever. 

Finally one morning, while Sam was in the shower and Dean was brewing coffee, he worked up the nerve to ask Cas. Is this really… okay, for him? Is this weird? Is it uncomfortable?

Cas shrugged, and looked rather serene. “To be honest Dean, it’s not so different from before. It’s the same as it always was.”

Dean supposed that was true. It was the same as it always was.

**Author's Note:**

> I feed off feedback! Let me know what you think, and don't be afraid to say the bad stuff!


End file.
